Woman of Secret Shadow
by Arwen Imladviel
Summary: The memoirs of Thuringwethil the vampire, once a servant and lover of Sauron. She is a minor Silmarillion character (Lúthien stole her wings when she had taken them off in the form of a cloak.)
1. End of Innocence

**To begin with the boring(?) stuff, some   


_Linguistic notes:_

**

I believe the Ainur had a tongue of their own, but since only few words of that remain (such as _Mahanaxar_, Ring of Doom), I have chosen to use Quenya until speakers of other languages appear.   
Some Quenyan names you will encounter in the first chapters:   
_Angamando_: Angband   
_valarauko_: balrog   
_Nurtahuinen_: Thuringwethil   
_Moringotto, Morion_: Morgoth 

The name 'Fanian' is based on these four successive entries in the ecxellent Quenya Corpus Wordlist compiled by Terrence Donnelly:   
'...**fana** the "veils" or "raiment" in which the Valar presented themselves to physical eyes, the bodies in which they were self-incarnated, usually in the shape of the bodies of Elves (and Men) (RGEO:74)   
**fána, fán** "white" (Markirya)   
**fanya** "(white) cloud" (FS); pl. fanyar in Namárië (Nam, RGEO:67)   
**fanyar** "the skies" (not heaven or firmament - the upper airs and clouds). Note that despite its English gloss, fanyarë is a singular word and therefore takes a singular adjective/participle, as in fanyarë rúcina "ruined skies" in Markirya (see MC:220, note 8 for this translation)...'

The stem _nurta-_ that I have used in both 'Nurtalessen' and 'Nurtahuinen' means hiding, that is, secret:   
'...**nurtal** "hiding" (evidently a verbal stem nurta- "hide" with the verbal noun ending -lë); Nurtalë Valinóreva "the Hiding of Valinor" (Silm)...' Quenya Corpus Wordlist   
As for Thuringwethil's Quenyan name, the origin is this word:   
'...**nuruhuin** "death-shadow" (LR:47, 56, SD:310)...' ibid.

And lastly, the entry that gives us Morgoth's Quenyan name:   
'...**mor** "dark, darkness" (Letters:282); morimaitë "black-handed" (LotR3:VI ch. 6). Moriquendi "Dark Elves" (SA:mor, WJ:373). Moringotto "Black Foe", Sindarin Morgoth. The oldest form is said to have been Moriñgotho (MR:194). Morion "the dark one", a title of Morgoth (FS). Morifinwë "dark Finw", masc. name; he was called Caranthir in Sindarin. Short Quenya name Moryo. (PM:353)...'

**_WOMAN OF SECRET SHADOW_**   
by Arwen Imladviel

**One: End of Innocence**

Once we were many, now I alone remain. This is the book of my nights that I write in my seclusion during long days in my silent hall which sunlight never enters. For I am vampire, the vampire I suppose these days, the last of my kindred.

There was a time, in the Spring of Arda, when I enjoyed the feeling of warm light on my wings. The light of Illuin and Ormal and nothing less, and the light of the oldest stars. I was a spirit of the air, a servant of Manwë. A faithful servant I was and as messenger swifter even than Eönwë. I wore white wings like a swan. I weep now to remember my innocence, yet if I lived those times again I would make the same choices.

Fanian! Your hair like billowing clouds full of golden light! Fanian, your raiment always white and shining bright. Fanian you were my joy, my love, you were my doom.

Fanian was a merry maiden, in power even lesser a Maia than I. Seldom have I met another who would so wholly surrender herself to the physical shape she had chosen to house her spirit in. She radiated joy and harmony. She rejoiced to possess beautiful flesh, and a pair of wings. She loved the caress of wind, the freshness of rain, even the excitement of thunder. Her wings were transparent like those of a dragonfly, so very fragile-looking and yet so strong. Her eyes were blue, her hair like golden thread. Slender she was and soft-featured. And I loved her more than anything else in all Eä.

In her visible shape - and she seldom abandoned it - Fanian made flesh the whole of her being. The Valar could never do such a thing; for their spirits are so immense that few could bear to behold their radiance. Some Maiar hide aspects of their spirit because of similar reasons - Arien of the Sun was much less bright and burning when she dwelt in Valinor. Had she been as she now is - oh, how I fear her merciless rays! - she would have burned the grass on which she walked. Some wish to conceal their true being for reasons of their own, many are too modest to show their power, while others take no shape at all, preferring the full freedom of a spirit.

As for myself, secrets are what I am made of. Those days I was called "the one with a hidden name", Nurtalessen. I was few-worded but known as a good listener, and I kept most carefully all the secrets I heard. We were each other's opposites, Fanian and I, and that was what kindled our love. I hungered for her open innocence; she was fascinated by my mysterious silence.

Yes, we were lovers. For Fanian it was simply impossible to show her love without physical expressions. We never thought that it was unusual for two women to love each other so, or if we did, we cherished our love all the more as a rare and special thing. Nor did we consider it as a loss of innocence, for how could two pure hearts joined together result in anything stained?

All that matters but little now. Ages past I chose a path of darkness - yet it was not I who destroyed Fanian.

This happened after Melkor broke the Lamps, when we lived in Aman, before the awakening of the Eldar. We were visiting Middle-Earth in its eternal twilight under the stars. I loved to listen to the secrets trees whispered to each other in the shadows, and the hidden movements of shy creatures. In starlit night everything wears veils of mist and darkness, and things unseen are the most beautiful of all. Fanian flew high above the trees and sang of everything that was in her heart: peace and love and wild joy. She shone in the darkness like a bright golden star.   
Then I could hear her voice no longer, nor the sound of her wings. I spread mine and flew where I had last heard her; she was no longer there. I searched the ground, I called out her name as loud as I could. It seemed like forever until I found her, but a glance at the stars told me only hours had passed.

Fanian was huddled small under a leafless tree. She shivered, but not of cold. She was weeping. Her shape no longer shone with the heavenly radiance of joy.   
'Are you hurt, my love?'   
She did not answer. I wrapped my arms around her and held her. At first she stiffened, but relaxed as I softly whispered:   
'I'm here. It's all right, I'm here.'   
I stroked her hair until her breathing calmed. Soon she was asleep in my arms. I held vigil over her and wondered what had happened to her. Some kind of accident? Some monster in the forest?

When she woke her eyes popped suddenly open and she screamed: 'Let me go!'   
I released my hold and she stood up. She stared at me and finally recognised me.   
'Nurtalessen! I thought -'   
'Please. What did you think?'

She told me.

Fanian had been snatched from the air by something bigger and stronger than her. It had covered her mouth and flown her far, and then landed in the forest. It had held her under its wings, something scaly covering her mouth. It had raped her, raped with a male member; so large it tore her flesh. Its semen burned her like fire, like molten iron. She struggled all she could and even tried to bite whatever ghastly limb held her, but she was helpless. She knew she could have left her physical body, but she guessed also that if she did it might be ravaged so badly she would never be able to take physical shape again. The creature satisfied its evil lust and released her - but when she stumbled away from it, it reached out suddenly with sharp claws and tore her gossamer wings. She turned to face the monster and saw it was man-shaped. It had wings of leather like a giant bat, but it also had feet and hands, and it stood upright. It wore clothes; a dark cloak and a horned iron helmet on its head. The scales she had felt on her mouth were gloves made of lizard skin. Under the rim of the helmet glowed eyes like red embers. The creature spoke:   
'Do you want some more?'   
And hearing that Fanian had fled in terror, running as fast as she could, until she stumbled on tree-roots in the darkness and collapsed where I had found her.

Fanian was never again the same. The wounds of her body healed, those in her heart did not. She became a mere shadow of her former self. I soon learned that even the most gentle touch made her nervous. Lovemaking was out of the question; she could not relax enough to enjoy it. Gone was the maiden I have described, the one who rejoiced in her flesh.

I knew that I had to do something. I could not help Fanian but if I found the one who had raped her, I might get revenge. I thought long and devised a secret scheme: I knew the monster had come from Utumno, where all that was evil had its origin. I would go there and pretend I had decided to follow Moringotto. Then I would find out what, or who, had raped my fair Fanian. And then, then I would seek my revenge.


	2. How Angels Fall

**Two: How Angels Fall**

I flew to the north of Middle-Earth, against cold winds, in darkness. I came to sharp-peaked bare mountains with flames flickering dim here and there, in rough-cut windows on the mountainside itself. I saw a gate under the mightiest peak, a passage shaped like a gaping jaw full of sharp teeth. Red light shone trough it, and guardsmen stood beside it. I landed at their feet and saw the gate itself was in fact closed, but it was deep in the passage. I guessed there must be a trap, possibly more than one. The guards were monstrous creatures - now for the first time I beheld the valaraukar, balrogs as they have been named in later days. Horned heads, leathery wings, red eyes - I wondered whether the monster I sought was one of their kin.  
One spoke to me:  
'What seek you here?'  
'I seek to serve the Mighty One, Lord Melkor.'  
'Why would you serve him?'  
'I prefer darkness to light; I wish to become powerful by serving the mightiest of all Ainur.'  
'A satisfactory answer.'  
He then summoned a smaller valarauko, a wingless one, and sent it to find "The Commander", whoever that was. 

'Master, we have here one who says she seeks to willingly join us.' He did not answer, just stood there, staring at me. He was no taller than I was, clad in dark iron armour, a seemingly ordinary person compared to the other inhabitants of that place, many of which had gathered in the windows to witness our exchange. Cyclops, two-headed ogres, creatures like giant insects, valaraukar of all sizes, and other shapes also.  
I felt something was expected of me, so I spoke.  
'Master, I have come to serve lord Melkor. I am called -'  
But he interrupted me:  
'I know you are called Nurtalessen. And I always knew there was more in you than what could be seen. Secrets breed schemes. I am not surprised to see you here.'  
Something in his voice hinted of power. I asked:  
'Are you the one they call Sauron?'  
'Indeed I am. Come to me.' 

I walked slowly towards him. He seized my hands and pulled me closer, then suddenly bent his head to bite my neck. I felt a loss of power. He drank my blood, he took my strength, he devoured my freedom. The feathers of my wings fell off and soon I stood in a pitiful pile of white quills and downy feathers. I spread my wings and a new sensation gushed through my veins. 

He had taken much from me, but given something in return. I now possessed wings of jet-black leather, and there was nothing between my skin and the night air. All my senses were heightened. I heard tiny movements far away, I smelled the smoke of every torch and fire, I saw through the darkest shadows. Few things would remain secret from me now. 

'Fly, my beautiful Nurtahuinen! Try your wings.' Sauron gave me a name, a name that means "The Woman of Secret Shadow".  
I rose above the mountains, feeling a wild animal joy. I was one with every gust of wind, I was strong and I was free - or at least I felt free. Free to obey my every evil desire. And suddenly my blood had streamed full of evil desires. Not for me the obedience of a slave - Nurtahuinen thirsted blood. I swept down into the woodlands and caught some small furry animal, and before I realized what I was doing I had devoured its blood. Disgusted, I threw the carcass away and took wing. 

He was there, high above, waiting. He too had wings, when he wanted to. I forced a smile on my bloodstained lips and flew to him. In my veins the stolen blood sang of fire and power. 

He took me there and then, in the air, and to my surprise I was willing. He courted me gently, kissing the blood from my lips and neck, licking a few errant drops from between my breasts. I folded my wings and went limp in surrender. I returned his kisses with passion and wrapped myself around his body. Such strong wings he had, carrying both of us. He was the first man I had, and he gave me a deep satisfaction different from, but not lesser than, the one I had shared with my first love. The image of Fanian began to fade in my heart. 

Of course, the moment I had seen Sauron with wings I had considered the possibility that he was the enemy I sought, but when he touched me I realized no one capable of such tender caresses could be the monster Fanian had described. 

When we tired in lovemaking he took me to a mountain peak above Utumno. We stood on a platform that could not be reached by anything without wings. He stood behind my back, his hands on my shoulders. Beneath us we saw the plain surrounding the mountains, where trees had been felled to feed the fires of Utumno. Chasms and trenches formed lines of defence, manned by Moringotto's creatures. We heard the clang of metal, hammer and anvil as cruel weapons were manufactured, we saw enslaved animals bearing burdens on steep, meandering roads and for the first time I realized the awesome might of the machine that was the realm of Moringotto. Sauron seemed to guess my thoughts:  
'The Valar are fourteen, and Melkor stands alone against them. But they are foolish and weak, wasting their time in singing and celebration, planting gardens and dreaming foolish dreams, while our lord Melkor is ever preparing for war, allowing nothing to distract him.'  
'The war will come.' I said.  
He stepped closer, his voice a soft whisper in my ear:  
'And are the Valar preparing for it?'  
'Yes, and no. Tulkas is enchanted by his wife and gives no thought for yesterday or tomorrow. Oromë hunts the creatures of darkness and his bow is greatly to be feared. Aulë is ever busy preparing weapons for the Ainur - but the wielding of weapons is not his skill. The blade most dangerous of all is the sword of Eönwë, herald of Manwë. The others are mostly powers of peace, yet I doubt even you and I together could kill the weakest of the Valar. When I left Aman, war was only a topic of theoretical discussion, but things may change.'  
'I see. And you, Nurtahuinen? Are you prepared for war?'  
'No. All I ever was is a messenger, unburdened by sword or shield, escape my only defence.'  
'That will change.' 


	3. First Impressions

**Three: First Impressions**

It was the first time I had seen Sauron nervous. He didn't pace about or stammer, nothing like that, but there was fear in his eyes. We stood in an antechamber waiting for me to be introduced to the Dark Lord Melkor.  
'How can you be so calm, Nurtahuinen? If he is not satisfied with you he might kill you.'  
'I know he will be satisfied with what he sees.'  
I was indeed confident. For years he had been preparing me for this and what would hopefully follow - my duties. My body was ten times stronger than it had been, my wings could lift four times my weight and still fly faster than before the training I had gone through in Sauron's hands. He had equipped me with armour made of the skin of great lizards and a helmet carved of the iron-hard skull of some horned monster. I also possessed a longsword I had named Sercëyulmo, Blood-drinker. All my new powers came from the blood of other creatures, some I had killed, some still alive, slaves or imprisoned spirits who were kept alive only to provide Sauron and me with the mighty magic that is found in the blood of sentient beings. 

Finally the door opened and I walked to the throne. I knelt down in obeisance; Sauron remained standing.  
'What have you brought me now?' The Voice asked. Not even Manwë had a voice like his - every word he said became a word of power by him saying it. His choice of words transformed me into an object devoid of free will. Sauron spoke, and I could hear he too was in the thrall of Melkor's words.  
'Her name is Nurtahuinen. She used to serve Manwë but has now offered herself to serve you instead. I have made her a vampire and trained her to kill.'  
'You may rise, woman of secret shadow.'  
I stood up, keeping my head down.  
'You may look at me.'

And so I looked and saw him. He was proud and he was noble, and his eyes were the cruellest eyes I ever saw. I feared him and feared to show my fear.  
'Nurtahuinen, you are indeed a beautiful one. I know why Sauron thinks so highly of you. However, from me you shall have no secrets. You did not come here to serve me, did you?'  
'N-no, my lord. I came to seek revenge for the wrong done to my lover, Fanian. But I have changed my mind. I am yours now.'  
'A mind so easily changed can be changed again. However, I know about the incident you mention, and it took place without my approval.' 

A hope was kindled deep within my heart. I kept it covered, away from my eyes. Melkor's every word was truth. Could it be that even his darkness had limits, and the spirit who had raped my lover had crossed them? Had he been punished? 

'I will deliver the culprit into your hands. You may do with him whatever you wish.'  
I was shown to a dungeon full of tools for all manners of torture. A naked man was chained to the wall by his hands and feet, so that he could scarcely move. Two lesser valaraukar, his keepers, awaited my orders. I looked at the man. He was tall and muscular, huge in all aspects; horns grew on his head and his eyes shone like red fire. 

I picked a whip and smiled.  
'How nice to meet you at last. I am your nemesis.' 


	4. The Torture Chamber

**Four: The Torture Chamber**

* * *

(Note: this chapter is nothing but gore, and not important plotwise. Skip it if you'd rather not know how Thuringwethil spends several weeks killing her enemy.)

* * *

For a moment he just stared at me. Then he turned his head away.  
'There is nothing you can do that would be worse than what has already been done to me.'  
'How so?' I asked.  
'They cut off my wings!'  
Indeed, he was wingless.  
'That is only just. You tore Fanian's wings to shreds.'  
'Just? You believe in justice?'  
'I _am_ the only justice you will ever have. My justice is a thousand-fold revenge of everything you did. I will break you to pieces.' 

I had the valaraukar hang him by his wrists in the middle of the ceiling, just high enough that his feet did not touch the ground. They chained weights to his feet so that he would not be able to kick. I began with small pains - whipping, flesh wounds, salt in the wounds. A strong man like that could last for weeks, until he resembled nothing like a slab of salted meat. I was in no hurry. And I made him talk. 

'Why did you do it?'  
'She was beautiful. She aroused me.'  
At that, I put out his eyes with my fingernails. No more would beautiful sights arouse him.  
'Ho did it feel when you knew you were hurting her?'  
He remained silent.  
'Answer me!' I cut his bicep with a saw-edged blade, slowly, back and forth, back and forth.  
He wailed in pain and began to speak:  
'So sweet, so little, I was certain she would die, so lovely, so afraid, so little, so tight, perfect, sweetness, all mine.'  
'Then why did you let her go?'  
'She wouldn't get far, not with her wings torn. I was going to come back. I was going to hunt her under the trees, cry out knowing she would shudder in terror at the sound of my voice… but you were there, you found her first, and you carried her away.'  
'I see.' 

For a while I was silent, knowing he waited in terror for my next attack. I chose another blunt, jagged blade and began a slow treatment of his genitals. I castrated him bit by bit, letting him bleed and scream as much as he could. 

Finally I was bored with his voice. I flapped my wings and rose to the level of his head. Then I wrapped my leg around his mutilated chest. He opened his mouth to scream, but I surprised him with a kiss and bit off his tongue. For the first time I tasted his blood. It was not as strong as I had hoped, but nonetheless I thirsted for more. I reminded myself that he had already bled a lot - I wouldn't want him to die too soon. I mollified my hunger by chewing on his lips and ears and sucking the wounds dry. 

Then I began the serious work. I used most of the tools in the room, and with the help of the valaraukar made his death a long and painful process. All in all I spent weeks with him in that room, his blood my only nourishment. At times I even fed him meat to make him last longer, and every day I cut off some small piece of him. Finally, when he was little more than a torso wrapped in bandages, no longer needing chains for he was totally unable to move, I cut open his stomach and took out most of his internal organs. 

Then I just watched him die; now and then prodding what was left of him with one sharp tool or another. He was a strong man and lived for a day and night like that. Then he sighed one last time and was gone. 


	5. Appearances may be Deceiving

**Five: Appearances May Be Deceiving**

He was gone - my enemy was gone. I mean this literally; in the place of his mutilated body a different body laid, the body of a smaller man, naked as the other had been but seemingly unharmed. I realized I knew this one.  
'_Sauron?_'  
He opened his eyes slowly and grinned at me. I was furious, mad enough to forget that I was talking to my commander:  
'What magic, what treachery is this?'  
'Only what our lord and master decreed necessary. The body you killed was a reflection, a shard of my power, shaped with blood-magic and the sacrifice of a worthless slave. It was the same shape I used when I raped Fanian.'  
'You? So it was you?'  
'Indeed. And Lord Melkor did not approve of me letting her escape, of the fact that there was in Aman a spirit who knew so much of my shape. He decided the shape in question should be destroyed - for if it remained inside myself, she would know me no matter what shape I wore, and my crime would be known to all her brethren, who would not rest before she was avenged. Imagine my surprise when the champion she had sent turned out to be my little Nurtahuinen, woman of so many secrets.'  
'I don't understand. Why did you keep the shape captive so long? Were you inside it all the time?'  
'That was the will of our lord and master. A part of me was inside the body, and he decided captivity would be fit punishment for it, until he thought up something more final. And when he saw you, the solution was self-evident.'  
'What do you mean?'  
'If he had let you harbour your secret wishes of revenge, they would eventually have led to a confrontation between the two of us. Better that you act as his tool and fulfil your quest with his approval. I could see you enjoyed it, and after you took out my eyes - I still knew you loved to hurt me.' 

I began to tremble. My hand went limp and the narrow hook-pointed knife I was holding hit the floor with a clang. Sauron took hold of my shoulders and kissed my brow.  
'Oh, Nurtahuinen, you were wonderful. Terrible, vicious, merciless, wonderful. If only I could waste power like that I would ask you to do it again.'  
'_What?_'  
'My own pain tastes as sweet as the pain of others. What you did was amazing, better even than fucking little Fanian to pieces.' 

And I realized two things. First, my revenge was as hollow as the false shape I had killed - Sauron still lived and possessed the memories of his crime. Whatever shard of him I might have destroyed, his mind was a whole. Second, I never would have revenge - even if I managed to maim or kill Sauron, he would enjoy it to the last moment. And then I realized a third thing: I no longer cared one way or the other. I had changed. In that chamber I had done unspeakable things that no creature of light would ever do to any living thing. And Sauron was right - I had enjoyed it. 

'I'm hungry. All that blood, and still I'm hungry.'  
'Shadow-blood is not as nourishing as it seems. I have something much better prepared for you.' 

And he led me to another chamber, where another prisoner waited. Perhaps he was an underling who had offended Moringotto, perhaps a wild but innocent spirit captured for our pleasure. I did not care. His blood was strong and there was plenty. 


	6. Written in the Stars

**Six: Written in the Stars**

Melkor had given Sauron a fortress of his own, Angamando beside the Western Sea. And I was made messenger between the two strongholds, Utumno and Angamando, and so I was privy to all of Melkor's secrets. There were other messengers, spirits who had felt my deathly kiss and become vampires under my thrall - but none of them had wings. They were fit to deliver the less important commands to regiment captains, under my stern supervision. None of my underlings was a woman - most female spirits I saw in the realm of Melkor were captives, slaves whose bodies were at anyone's use. I suspected that a few valaraukar I knew might be female, but one can never be quite certain with valaraukar. 

One night I stood on the battlement of a tower Angamando, having just delivered a message to Sauron himself. Suddenly I noticed something that made my heart tremble within me. One by one seven new stars bloomed to shine in the northern sky. The shape they formed was a sickle. And somehow that shape seemed very threatening. I realized there was an enchantment, a message in the stars, a warning that all creatures of Moringotto could read. And I had become his creature. I inspected the sky and saw several other new stars also ablaze.  
'Doom! The Valar have sent a challenge! Doom is upon us!' I shrieked as I flew down, circling around the tower and through a window into Sauron's great hall.  
'A challenge?' He asked, wary, no doubt wondering who had brought the message and was he still alive.  
'A challenge written in stars on the sky itself!' 

I was worried, then, for I felt ignorant now of so much. Something had changed, but what was it? Then we had the news. I heard it from Melkor himself; I was the one who told Sauron. Melkor's servants had found the Children of Iluvatar far in the East, and he now summoned his most cunning servants to capture as many of them as we could, to put fear in their hearts and scatter them into the night. 

I was among those Sauron sent. I don't know if that was his intention, but we were told to proceed as fast as we could - so that although Melkor had sent the troop from Utumno much earlier, I passed them all on the journey, one by one. The valaraukar had wings, but they were heavy; their flight was slow. So although I was not the first to meet the Quendi, I was the first to do more than observe them. I took off my armour and sword, and hid them. Then I spoke the spell that turned my wings into a dark cloak. I walked among the Quendi with a shape that resembled one of them. I was beautiful. All I had to do was seduce the males, one by one, to a walk with me into the shadows. The first one I drank dry by accident. These creatures were so weak, so easy to kill, nothing like the spirits and mighty animals that were my usual prey. With the next ones I was more careful. I noticed that my bite made them lose their will and personality - this also was something that does not happen to spirits. I had perhaps thirty captives before the elves began to shun me. By this time my comrades had also arrived, so I told my captives to follow me and marched them to Utumno like a herd of brainless animals. 

How my master was proud of me that day! But Melkor did not send me to Cuiviénen again - instead he used me to work with some of those that were brought to him whole in mind, if not body. 

Their voices I will never forget - how could such young creatures have so many words? How could they sing, captured and hungry in darkness, sing to the stars they knew they would never see again? They seemed to quench their thirst by talking about water! Every new pain and fear we gave them, they named, and in the naming seemed to master it. Yet they were weak and almost without magic. Easily scared, easily captured, easily hurt, and easily killed. But the spirit in them, it was from Eru himself! I could taste it in their blood - life, as I would never know it, sweet mortality! 

Yes, in my opinion elves are mortal. Their blood is mortal blood, strengthened by food and drink, weakened by thirst and famine, and when they pass on to the halls of Mandos they leave their flesh behind. The likes of myself vanish into nothing when we leave this world; the flesh we wear is no more than a reflection of our true being. When the soul itself vanishes, so does the reflection.

* * *

I will write more as soon as I find the time. The next chapter will be about the Battle of Powers... you will also meet a much-changed Fanian. Before that, please review - and tell me, should I involve Eönwë on a personal level in this story or pick someone else? (If you have read my worst fics you know he is my number two favourite Ainurin love interest... number one being bad old Sauron, of course!)   


- Yours, Arwen Imladviel 


	7. Battlefield

**Seven: Battlefield**

Our banner was death; of skull and bone and elven skin we had made our standards. We raised them high and cried out the name of our lord: Moringotto Morion! No living orc, the result of our work on the elves, stood on this battlefield, for Melkor was not yet certain of their loyalty. But the first of trolls were there, almost-spirits of stone cut in crude shape, their souls mere simple shards of the shattered hearts of mountains. Some of them were huge in size - the fathers of giants. On mighty lizards cyclops and ogres rode to battle; valaraukar marched and flew. And I flew, at the head of the army, scouting with my far-seeing eyes.

From the sea the army of the Valar came and rose against us like a flood of steel and white fire.

Fang and claw, sword and spear, fire and sorcery – we fought back with all we had. To no avail – they were stronger and outnumbered us seven to one. I, in my lizard-skin armour, attacked from above and cut down many a spirit with my faithful Sercëyulmo. But the enemy, too, had winged champions. One such was Ilmarë, servant of Varda, who threw bolts of lightning like a lesser spirit might throw spears. Trying to escape her, I met another flying opponent. She was armoured head to toe in gold-plated mail and wielded a mighty sword. Her wings beat so fast I couldn't see them clearly. Valarauko blood stained her blade and armour, red as fire.

We were evenly matched in skill and strength, but her armour was better and her sword longer. She wounded me severely, first putting out my right eye, and then tearing my left wing and maiming my arm all with one blow. I fell to the ground below, able only to slow my descent, rotating like a leaf in the wind. I thought she would leave me for dead, but she followed.

I fell to an area where no living thing remained, only empty armour and broken blades, their owners departed from Arda in body and soul. Dead lizards and monsters, fallen horses of the Ainur, trolls turned to stone by the radiance of the Valar in the flesh. Here I would find nobody to defend me, my people were retreating east, pursued by the Valar.

She followed me, the nameless enemy, her armour a secret I could not see through. I picked up a spear and hurled it at her, but she skimmed in the air and avoided it. Then she was upon me, two hands against one, wings against feet, and I had no place to flee. I was sure then that I would die. 'Moringotto Morion!' I cried out, a plea for help more than a gallant battle cry, now.

My enemy landed in front of me and folded her wings – losing half her advantage. I stared at her, dumbfounded.  
'Nurtalessen.' Her voice was full of hatred.  
'My name is Nurtahuinen these days,' I said.  
'How appropriate. Remember Fanian?'

I thought I understood then.  
'She sent you to kill me? Are you her new lover? And here I thought her body was spoiled for love forever.'  
She took off her helmet, revealing Fanian's radiant hair cut short, Fanian's familiar features turned strange by the lust for blood. My blood.  
'It is. But you will have to search far and wide to find a body better suited for hatred than this.'  
'Why do you hate me? I never harmed you. Sauron is the one you want. If you let me live, I could take you to him.'  
'I will take my revenge unmellowed, and I don't trust you. You serve my enemy. That is enough reason.'  
I charged at her suddenly, throwing her on her back. Her sword fell from her grasp. She was helpless, pinned under me, and I raised my blade to the kill. Warrior she might be, but also a fool, attempting conversation in the battlefield, removing her helm only to taunt me.

Someone grasped my wrist from behind with a hand so strong I felt my bones break.  
'You shall not have her, creature of darkness!' A male voice I found I knew.  
'Eönwë? What are you doing so far behind the front, oh mighty champion?' I never had liked him, even when we both served Manwë. Stuck-up and too full of himself.  
'Looking for Fanian.'

He lifted me off my feet, letting me hang from his fist like a captured rabbit. My left arm had already been rendered useless by a blow of Fanian's sword, and my feeble kicks had no effect on him. His armour was golden, a more elaborate version of Fanian's mirror-smooth plate. He was tall and strong, holding me easily by his left hand alone. In his right hand I saw a terrible blade.

'Let me live and I will be your prisoner. Let Mandos judge me! I know all of Sauron's secrets and many of Moringotto's, and I will tell you everything if you only let me live! I surrender, do you hear me, I surrender!'  
Fanian stood up, shaking dust off her wings, recovering her sword.  
'I wouldn't trust her words, Eönwë. To me she promised she would take me to Sauron, let me have my revenge on him. And then, when I least expected, she struck me down.'  
'Well, there is nothing she can do now. Nurtalessen, drop the sword.'  
I obeyed. What else could I do, trapped in the grip of the man no one had ever bested in swordsmanship? The thud of my trusty blade hitting the ground was the very sound of failure.

I stared into Eönwë's eyes, the merciless cold eyes of a creature of light that had never doubted the superiority of his side, the righteousness of his own heart. There I saw my only chance.  
'Lord Eönwë, I am weak. I was enslaved by bondages of blood-magic. I fear death, else I would have escaped by the sword.'  
'You have wings.'  
'Sauron flies faster,' I lied.

I let him see pieces of my soul, the pitiful fears, the clumsy regrets, and the suppressed doubts - enough to convince him that my repentance was sincere. Not for his wisdom was Eönwë called mighty – he swallowed it all. I could see his determination falter. He could have slain me there and then – a humble spirit like myself was hardly worthy of personal judgement by Mandos.

Then, shyly, I turned my eyes away from him and let false tears roll down my cheek.  
'You are hurting me, Lord Eönwë. Couldn't you just chain me or something?'

He lowered me enough for my feet to touch the ground. At that moment, Fanian cried out:  
'Eönwë! Behind you!'  
He held on to my wrist and turned. A dark shadow fell from the sky, its mighty black wings beating slowly. Swift as wind it was upon us and threw a battle-axe at Eönwë. The weapon struck his left shoulder, burying itself deep. I saw poison drip down the heavy blade. For a moment the fist holding me was paralysed, and I was able to wriggle my way free. The shadow was already speeding away, and Fanian took wing to follow it.

For a delicious moment, Eönwë stood there helpless. I picked up my sword and considered fighting him. But already he was pulling the axe from the wound. It was slow work, for the edge was jagged. I knew that, for I knew the weapon well indeed. It belonged to Sauron.

I sneaked away.

The Valar advanced and besieged Utumno. The mighty fortress fell, and Tulkas captured Melkor. I was not there, nor was Sauron. We hid together deep in the caves under Angamando, with many of our people. Some of the captive elves died to heal my wounds with the power of their blood. The healing was only partly successful; my right eye was lost forever. Even today I have an orb of black stone in the empty socket. It is no ordinary stone, of course – it sometimes sees more than my left eye.


	8. Cowardice

**Eight: Cowardice**

It was a lesson hard learned. We were cowards, both of us. Sauron had not defended his master. Instead he had fled. Seeing me captured he had not dared to halt, and indeed the thrown axe had penetrated Eönwë's armour only because of the speed Sauron's flight lent it. And I – I had been ready to surrender and betray us all. Of course I kept all this secret, and I actually feared Moringotto's return – he would see right through me.

Or he would have, if I had not spent the time to strengthen my mental defences. It is hard to describe the process in words, as it took place in the wordless depth of my innermost heart. I remade myself again and again, until my face was mask-like, and my eye of flesh as expressionless as my eye of stone.

The black orb was a construct Sauron had carefully built for me with his dark magic. It was an eye to see through all things, as if they were nothing but air and glass. Through darkness I saw, and through light, through stone and iron, wood and water, skin and bone and living flesh. All the way to the horizon, to the flaming depths of the earth and the chilly heights of the sky – my new eye opened everything to me. Through eyes and expressions I saw into the very souls of the Children of Ilúvatar.

Not that I was all-seeing and without weakness. With skill, I could be deceived. The hearts of the Ainur were no more open to me than they already had been. And when I flew over the sea, westwards, until the mountain wall guarding Aman rose in the horizon, I looked through the mountains, hoping to see my lord Melkor in his captivity and perhaps spy on the Valar –

The brightness! How it burned me! Telperion was fading, Laurelin growing brighter. Their light was too much for my eyes. So pure and holy it was, so unlike the sputtering torches and red lava of Angamando. I was blinded, I turned away and flew home trembling, broken and weakened. I almost fell into the waves, perished in the storm that was rising. For a long time the images of the two trees seemed burned in the back of my eyes, hovering between me and everything I saw. I blamed Sauron and his work, but he told me I had simply lived in the darkness too long and learned the secrets of darkness too well. I had become a creature of the night, powerful and mighty beyond my former stature, but only when I remained in the shadows. The stone eye was merely the last seal upon my fate – as soon as Sauron had drunk my blood, my doom had been carved on my soul. It was always my nature to desire for secrets – and darkness is where secrets thrive, whereas light by revealing them destroys them. Once, as the Maia of Hidden Things, my secrets had been innocent as the sky between the stars – now, a darkness foul and black as volcano-smoke surrounded them.

Yes, that is my weakness. All light that is pure and holy burns me, and had I seen the Two Trees unshielded, no doubt they would have burned me to ashes and dust.

Time passed. And then we heard the voice of our Lord and master, crying out – for help! His voice tore the hills apart, and the mountains trembled. The valaraukar flew to his aid. I did not, nor did Sauron. We were cowards. We thought too much in our cleverness, and this is what we thought: if something was stronger than Moringotto, how could we prevail against it?

But the valaraukar did, and drove Ungoliant away. Our Lord had returned, too shaken by the betrayal of his latest ally to bother with us. He set about rebuilding his kingdom, centred on Angamando. He called to him all that remained of his creatures. Three peaks he raised above the fortress, the Sangororimbë, or Thangorodrim as they were most often called. Mighty was his fortress, great his dominion, and with an iron crown he crowned himself King of the World.

And on that crown he had set the Silmarils. While he wore it, I could not go near him. The opposite end of his great throne room was the closest I could manage, and even then with my eyes closed and turned away from that light. That meant I almost had to shout all the messages I gave him, and thus was no longer trusted with his inmost secrets. But it also meant that he could not look into my eyes and see my secret shame. My cowardice.


	9. Flirting With Death

"_For now, more than in the days of Utumno ere his pride was humbled, his hatred devoured him, and in the dominion of his servants and the inspiring of them with lust of evil he spent his spirit. Nonetheless his majesty as one of the Valar long remained, though turned to terror, and before his face all save the mightiest sank into a dark pit of fear." _

- J.R.R. Tolkien, Quenta Silmarillion

**Nine: Flirting With Death**

I stood in a window, facing west. In darkness I stood, of darkness I thought, of the death of the two trees. What would I see if I flew across the sea, now? Some new light raised to replace the trees, like they had replaced the lamps? Or Valimar in lantern-lit darkness, elves huddling in their homes, the fear of defeat in their eyes? The Valar preparing for war?

I thought of Eönwë then, and Fanian, and when I realized I might see them together, black jealousy swallowed my heart. Sooner or later Eönwë, mighty that he was, would succeed in what I had failed and vanquish the walls Fanian had built around her broken heart. I no longer loved her, but it irked me that another might know her, and all the secrets of her lovely flesh. If she could not be mine she should not be anyone's. Then I think it first occurred to me that I might one day desire to kill Fanian.

The window was small and set high in the wall, so I could lean my elbows on the sill. There was no glass – we had more than enough warmth in Angband, with the fires of the earth itself to heat the very walls around us. I was not wearing my wings – Sauron had taught me how to discard them like a garment when I did not need them.

Someone entered the room. Bright white light drew my shadow sharp on the windowsill. I straightened my back, trembling, afraid to turn my head lest I become dust and ashes in that light.

'My Lord Morion.'  
'Call me Morgoth. I am told Feänor named me so, in his hatred, and I find the name apt in all its crudeness.'  
'As you wish, my Lord.'  
'Your name, in the language of the elves, would be Thuringwethil.' He came closer and set his hands on my shoulders.  
'Mmm. I like the sound of that.'  
His finger brushed my neck.  
'However, what I do not like, my Lord, is how easily you endangered my life.'  
'When have I done such a thing?'  
'Just now, my Lord, by stepping into this room unannounced. Had I been facing the door, I would have perished by the light of the Silmarils.'  
'I did not realize – I know you avoid light, but not that it is an actual danger to you.'  
I explained to him in detail my weakness, lest he doubt me or danger me again so casually, for truly I feared the Jewels of Feänor.  
'I see. This fragility of yours, it intrigues me. You see, there are few that I can trust these days. Few that do not secretly lust for the Silmarils, for the crown I wear.'  
'Which is why you will not uncrown yourself, is it not, my Lord?'  
'True. But Thuringwethil, you I can trust. The Jewels are death to you.'  
'Indeed, my Lord.'  
'You are shaking, Thuringwethil. Are you afraid?'  
'Yes, my Lord. How could I not be, with my death so near me?'  
'If you wish, I will go away.'  
'I do not know what I wish. I do not wish to disappoint you, my Lord. I wish you to trust me, as you once did.'  
'Ah, Thuringwethil.'  
His left hand embraced me, feeling the shape of my body, and looking down I saw the hand was burned black. He, too, knew the pain the Silmarils caused, and had decided to endure it. I wished I were strong enough to make choices like that, but reminded myself I was only a Maia. His right hand, likewise burned, as I would later see, opened the clasps that held my hair in place. As my hair streamed down he pressed his face into it.

So. The King of the World wanted of me only what Sauron had wanted, alone and haunted by nightmares deep in the pit of our cowardice. I realized how alone our Lord must feel on his high throne, under the weight of the Iron Crown. I did not pity him; all such feelings had died in me long ago. I only thought of how best to take advantage of the situation.

He spoke to me then of all he seen in Aman; he told me the Valar could be deceived. He described the mightiest of the Ainur and the Eldar and their weaknesses. Of Feänor he spoke and his greed, of Finwë's death and of Ungoliant.

While he spoke he undressed me and explored my body. His burned hands were rough on my flesh.

No, not for me would the Mighty One uncrown himself! And so he had me from behind, like a beast, and just as roughly. He gave no thought for how I felt – why would that concern him? I was his slave, his creature. It was my duty to please him.

And yet – when I screamed it was no pretense, no false pain nor pleasure.

It was the single most intense thing I had ever felt, having him inside me. He was power, he was glory, he was darkness itself. And I realized new chains now bound me to him. I would do much to feel that fire again. Nothing the Valar had ever given me or could possibly promise me would feel so bone-chillingly good.

He was Melkor. I feared him with all that was in me. And he desired me, and I desired him.

For I was his woman.

No, not the only one. There were a few others, and I had heard their screams in the night, watched their shadows cast by that terrible light of the Silmarils. I had not known at the time whether the screams were of pain or pleasure – now I knew they were both. Another secret, but by no means the most important one I learned that night.

For the Dark Lord Morgoth had told me much in his lust and in his relish of having, at last, a trustable servant who did not desire the Silmarils.

I think I then knew more of Feänor than what Feänor knew of himself.

Morgoth did not speak to me, when he left the room. I, knowing my place, knew better than to speak to him. Silently I tasted the lingering shadows of his touch on me and inside me, and with that glow I relished all the delicious secrets I had learned of him, of myself, and of the distant West.

And then I dressed myself in crimson silk woven by blind spiders in an underground cave, and I went to Sauron, for he was expecting me that night.

* * *

Before this chapter, Quenyan names have been used in this manuscript instead of forgotten or secret Valarin ones. From now on, Quenya is used for itself, as is Sindarin.

Note: Of all my stories this one is my personal favourite. I think I will write many, many more chapters to it. The first versions of these last three were written a long time ago, but I was not satisfied them so I let them wait for a while in hope of new ideas, which I did indeed find. Originally I intended Thuringwethil not to enjoy her intercourse with Melkor – but then I realized that she most likely would. He is, after all, the mightiest of the Ainur…

- A.I.


End file.
